Midwich: A Silent Hill High School AU
by MurphdayCake
Summary: Harry Mason is beginning his senior year at Midwich High School, an institution filled with hot jocks, sassy cheerleaders, awkward nerds, and numerous other teen lit clichés. But at Midwich, not everyone is as they seem, and when the year begins to take a sudden nose dive, Harry and his friends aren't sure if they'll make it to the other side emotionally intact.


Story Description: Harry Mason is beginning his senior year at Midwich High School, an institution filled with hot jocks, sassy cheerleaders, awkward nerds, and numerous other teen lit clichés. But at Midwich, not everyone is as they seem, and when the year begins to take a sudden nose dive, Harry and his friends aren't sure if they'll make it to the other side emotionally intact.

Genre(s)- Comedy, Drama, Romance

Rating- M, to be safe, mostly for strong language

Enjoy!

(P.S. For whatever reason, fanfiction isn't letting me put transition lines between scenes, so transitions will seem to happen suddenly as you read. I apologize in advance for that.)

**Chapter One ~ Beginning**

I had spent the previous night organizing and readying my new school supplies for use (delegating every folder and notebook to a single class, situating the perfect amount of writing utensils and erasers within the front pocket, etc., as well as a travel size bottle of hand sanitizer in a side pocket), followed by taking a 45 minute shower, then spending an hour and a half on a short story idea I had thought of during said shower. All together, I didn't manage to climb into bed until 1:35 AM.

And so, I, Harry Mason, began my first day of my senior year at Midwich High School in a dizzy, exhausted daze. However, I wouldn't let this stomp on what should absolutely be an exciting and joyful day, filled with reunions, new teachers, and new faces. Nope, that sunny September morning would be one of epic proportions, the beginning of a new era, a new adventure. I had spent the first three years of my high school experience putting up with everyone's petty bullshit, being humiliated, and shoved into various walls and doors. I was a year away from adulthood, and as such, I planned on that year being a clamor of stress-free, bullying-free happiness and exuberance.

A fucking _clamor_.

After stepping out of the noisy school bus, I strutted into school that morning like the illest motherfucker you've ever damn well seen, wearing a light blue v-neck with white plaid shorts, black flip-flops, and my best pair of bamf-ass sunglasses sitting on my newly cut brown hair. Backpack on my back, writing notebook in hand, I was ready for business.

I stepped through the front doors, maneuvering through the stampede of students flooding through. Everyone seemed to be pushing and shoving into the building as if school was the only reason for their existence. I soon became engulfed by a group of students, all crashing into each other and stumbling periodically. _God, can everyone just walk?_ I questioned.

A rather large guy was directly behind me. He must have weighed at least 250 pounds. "Jesus Christ man, MOVE!" he screamed at me as we reached the halfway point through the entrance, as if I was the source of the slow shuffle into the building. I turned my head. I wasn't putting up with shit like this, not this year. "What the hell do you want me to d-"

The large guy sent his beefy hands into my back, pushing me through the second set of doors into the main lobby. "GAAHHHH!" I gaahhhhed, and as I began to fall, I took a large set of students with me for the ride, sending all of them and myself to the cold, hard ground of the main lobby.

Me and the 6 or so students thumped to the floor with various sounds of pain and impact. I (very) audibly smacked the side of his head to the floor, sending my sunglasses flying from the top of my head before skidding 10 feet away. Me and the other students laid on the ground, moaning in agony, while the large guy stepped around the scene as if we weren't there (though he did eventually turn around to acknowledge me, giving a scowl before turning the corner down the hall).

Me and the others pushed ourselves up with much difficulty. An administrator came over to yell, "Come on, get up, get UP!", while giving no assistance.

I clutched my forehead and sighed, surprised I hadn't smashed the side of my skull, considering how hard I'd hit it. I walked over to pick up my sunglasses, afraid that the horde might run them over. A huge sting was surging through my entire head now.

Standing in the middle of the hall wasn't best plan, and so after I gathered myself, I began walking down the hall to the area near the guidance office, where the school posted homeroom numbers every year. I shuffled quickly through the crowded hall. Teachers and administration shouted various commands like, "Get to your homeroom!" and, "Please make your way to homeroom!", or "FIND YOUR HOMEROOM!".

When I finally arrived at the wall of homeroom lists, I began pushing through the huge crowd (if other people could do it, so could I). Giving wordless shoves, I eventually made my way near the front of the crowd, and started scanning the lists. I located the senior section, and searched the various room numbers for my last name. "Mason... Mason..." I repeated... until I felt a huge slam of a fist into my right side.

"Fuck!" I hissed in pain, grabbing the point of impact. The source of the unnecessary jab was a well-dressed, short girl with bright strawberry blond hair and a perfect row of teeth.

"Damnit Lisa," I said, unable to hold back laughter. The junior girl smiled. "Harry! I missed youuuu!" she yelled to me over the loud chatter, before launching at me for a firm hug.

Lisa had been away visiting family most of the vacation, something that had proved torturous for the both of us. We'd been friends since elementary school, nearly inseparable ever since. Being back with Lisa made my shitty start to the day a bit less shitty.

Some students began shouting at Lisa and I to get out of the way. "Crap," I uttered, breaking our hug. "One sec." I turned back to the lists momentarily, peering around until I finally found the number... Room 302. "You find it yet?" Lisa asked "I already know mine."

"Yeah, come on," I responded, grabbing her hand to pull her out of the fervent crowd.

We bobbed and weaved through screaming high school kids, some of them shouting expletives at us and grabbing my face and clothes. "Get... get OFF!" I yelled, sending my elbows outward to knock people's hands off of my body and out of our path. After a minute or so of struggling, we made it out to the other side.

"Assholes." Lisa muttered, smoothing her dress down. "Anyway, I missed you, bitch!" she said to me as we started down the hall, pulling me in for a side hug.

"Same," I said, still grinning. Lisa kept her arm around me as I began to speak again. "Where're you heading?"

"Room 105. You?"

"302."

"Oh, God."

"What?"

She sighed. "That's Mr. Townshend's room. The history teacher? I had him last year. One of the most boring people you will ever meet."

"I've heard about him, I've never had him for a class though."

"Well, looks like you're gonna now, my friend," she said.

I laughed. "He can't be that bad."

"OH, OH HOHOHOHO, just you wait. He's way too quiet, can't teach, grades too hard, his lectures are terrible. Have fun."

"Christ." Everything was just perfect.

We turned down the hall, and to our left was Room 105. "Here's me. See you at lunch maybe?" Lisa asked.

"Yeah, hopefully."

She smiled, giving me a quick smooch on the cheek before breaking away and jogging toward her class ."Goodbye, sweetheart!" she yelled to me, before shuffling away.

I waved goodbye, and then she was gone. Continuing down the hall and up the steps to my right, I double-checked my destination in my head. Room 302. _Mr. Townshend, here I come._

"Hello, class," Mr. Townshend began, once everyone was settled into their seats. "My name," he began slowly "Is Mr. Townshend, for those of you who don't know me. I'm a history teacher, and as you all know, this is your first period class: European History. Ahh, European History," He said while beginning to pace around the room, smiling and looking genuinely enthralled by the trivial, one-sided conversation. "A subject so intriguing, so complex, yet so underappreciated. Why is it underappreciated you ask?"

Nobody asked.

Mr. Townshend began to rant. I didn't like the guy already. And so, instead of listening to the teacher's drabble, I began to take a look around the room to observe my new fellow classmates.

I didn't recognize many of them. Actually, pretty much none of them. Well, some of them. Only the ones that had fucked with me in the past. But I didn't really know anyone by name.

All except for one.

Sitting in the furthest corner of the room, in his Midwich High football jacket, was none other than quarterback Alex Shepherd.

God, did I hate Alex. It wasn't that he was arrogant or rude, or anything like that. _He's just so dumb_, I began to think. Really fucking dumb. Well, OK, not that dumb. Just not as intelligent as me. Well, actually, Alex is pretty much of average intelligence. And he's polite, I guess. And he has nice shoulders. Nice, broad shoulders. And cute hair. Pretty eyes. Great ass.

OK, so I didn't actually hate Alex, per se. I just hated how attractive Alex was, and how popular he was, and how he was someone who was popular and actually deserved it for once. He wasn't a teen-movie-douche-bag-jock stereotype. He was a decent person.

And that's what I absolutely hated about him. It was like Alex Shepherd could do no wrong. He was so fucking likeable. He was Alex fucking Shepherd. Everyone liked him.

Even I liked him.

And that made me hate him.

Oh wait. I had been staring at Alex this entire time, hadn't I? When I finished daydreaming about the senior, I refocused to find Alex staring back at me, albeit in confusion.

_Fuck._

I waved "Hi" in a poor attempt to break the awkward tension, giving a doofy half-smile. Alex waved "Hi" back, looking discomforted, but smiling politely.

"Harry Mason," Mr. Townshend called out. I continued to smile and wave at Alex like a jackass.

"HARRY MASON."

I snapped from my trance, and turned to the front of the room, noticing the teacher was holding a clipboard and pen. In all of my self-inflicted distraction, I hadn't noticed that Townshend was taking attendance.

"Oh!" I yelled, "H-here!"

All the students in the room chuckled. Mr. Townshend did not. "In the future, please keep your body turned to the front of the room, Mr. Mason."

"Um... yeah, OK."

And with that, he continued taking attendance. The entire class began whispering to each other, and I could hear various little mentions of my own name under hushed breath, as well as colorful little words like "faggot".

_Dammit_, I swore to myself, sinking into my seat. They had noticed me looking at Alex. And to my increased discomfort, most of the kids in the room stared at me in silence as Mr. Townshend finished attendance, including Alex.

After first period was orientation. It never seemed purposeful to me (or really anyone else out of the 879 student body), but the administration deemed that going over the same exact rules every year was important. VERY important in fact, as every year it filled up the time from second period until lunch. Four whole periods of worthless, bullshit information. That's over FOUR HOURS. Because of this, we could never actually meet all of our teachers until the second day of school.

The other students sat throughout the auditorium in no assigned order, most messing around with friends, throwing paper balls, or texting as Principal Gillespie droned on and on about how "This year will be more orderly, productive, and well-behaved than any before it." The same phrase she said every year. LITERALLY the very same one. And it never held true.

You know... Principal Gillespie was odd. No, scary. Legitimately scary. She was only in her 30s, but was wrinkly enough that she could pass for her early 50s, and she spoke with this mad woman, nasally voice that pierced your eardrums. And her eyes were weird too. They were wide open, yet somehow appeared small.

As she scanned the students in the front row that were, for whatever reason, paying attention to the seminar, a few of them drew back in what appeared to be fear as her piercing gray, almost black eyes, met with theirs. And she would smile, every time.

I sat in the middle section of the auditorium, playing Sonic the Hedgehog on my black iPhone (with the volume off, of course), paying no mind to the proceedings. I couldn't find any of my friends when I'd arrived at the hall, including Lisa, and so I placed myself in a random seat. To my sides were a bored-looking girl with a blonde ponytail, who appeared to be a freshman (I had never seen her before, and she looked very young), and... ew. Vincent Smith.

Vincent was beginning his Junior year, but he had only been at Midwich since the middle of last year. Since he'd gotten there, he'd quickly gained the reputation of being a complete slimebag weirdo: he was a complete mooch, who did anything to make a quick buck, even going as far as sneaking into the girls' locker room to take nude pics and sell them for two bucks a pop (saddest thing: they sold very well). He had long, greasy brown hair that fell flatly off of his head, his left eye drifted noticeably and distractingly off to the side, he wore the weirdest clothing (including leather vests and golf shirts), and he always, always had the smuggest expression on his face.

That particular day, Vincent wore a black band t-shirt (some obscure band I had never heard of), with a brown vest over top of it (huh?), khakis, and those weird shoes that have spots for your toes in them that only douchebags wear. And as always, his face wore that terrible, I'm-the-hot-shit expression.

I glanced over to my right every minute or so to make sure Vincent wasn't looking my way. I didn't like talking to Vincent anymore than anyone else did, and that day especially, after the shitty start I'd had, I didn't want anything to do with him. And so I glanced... and glanced again... and again... _Oh shit... He's turning his head... Fuckfuckfuck..._

Vincent smirked. "Yes, Harry?", he whispered.

_God._

We looked each other straight in the eye. I paused my game and sighed. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

"You're making sure I don't look at you, aren't you? Taking little sneak peaks to make sure I keep my right eye front and center on Principal Gillespie? You don't need to worry, Harry. I can always keep an eye on whoever's to my left side." I just then noticed that his left eye, the lazy one, was drifted far to the left in his eye socket, looking directly at me, and it probably had been for a while. I cringed.

"I saw you looking, Harry. Why were you looking? Are you fascinated with me? Scared of me?" He smiled even wider then, and turned to face me. "Possibly even attracted to m-"

"Jesus Christ!", I heard to my left. The small blonde girl had turned to face Vincent.

"Shut the fuck up! It's not like anyone really cares about what this bitch up here has to say, but damn, nobody cares about what you have to say either, and you're not exactly being quiet."

The three of us sat motionless for second, while a few surrounding students directed their eyes towards us. I began to chuckle and bury my face in my hands. Vincent's face sunk from a gross, yellow-toothed grin to a frown of embarrassment. He quickly returned his back into the seat, and turned to face the principal again. The blonde girl sighed, and also went back to watching the lecture, face resting in her left hand and clearly expressing boredom.

After I stopped laughing, I leaned over to the blonde girl. "That was hilarious," I whispered. "I've wanted to say something like that to him for so long."

"It's cool. Guy was just being a fuckin' weirdo. I was trying to sit here and sleep and all I could hear was his sociopathic ramblings."

"Yeah, I know, trust me. He's awful."

"Mhm." She picked her head up to face me directly, quickly outstretching a tiny, pale hand to me. "Laura Peters. You?"

I shook it. "Harry Mason."

"Well, Harry. You seem tolerable enough. I bet you could do a fine job of showing me about the school and telling me about all these _wonderful_ children while Mary's not with me."

"Mary?"

"Yeah, Mary Shephard. She's in your grade."

"Oh yeah, I know her. Well, not really," I started. Her name triggered my thoughts to move at 100 mph, and I began to expel words. "I only know her because she got really upset with this kid who assumed that her and Alex Shepherd were related, and she screamed at the guy, saying that her and Alex's last names were 'PRONOUNCED THE SAME BUT SPELLED DIFFERENTLY!' to the entertainment of a crowd of about 30 kids, including myself, but yeah, she's apparently a really nice girl, but has something personal against Alex, nobody knows what it is though."

"...Oh. Well yeah, I'm her foreign exchange student," Laura continued, now seeming a bit off-put. _Was it something I said?_ "I'll be staying with her for the next year."

"O-Oh, really?" I recovered. "Where are you from?" I was surprised to know that Laura was from anywhere other than America: her English was perfect.

"England."

"What? You have no a-"

"I've been to America a lot before. Just sort of picked the accent up."

"That's pretty cool." I wondered why she didn't just speak normally anyway. It's not like anyone would mind her English accent.

"I guess. What about you?" Her expression suddenly shifted to one of vague curiosity. "What's the story of Harry Mason?"

"Um..." I thought on it for a moment, while the principal continued to drone in the background. "I'm not really anything special. I'm just... Harry."

"That's all? There's more to everyone than just that. Extra layers, inner depths of their mind and soul, waiting to be pulled open like an onion, all that." She waited for a second, her eyes asking for a response. But I had nothing.

"Fine, fine. Don't talk. I guess I'll just have to talk about myself then, since your boring ass has nothing substantial to say."

I was actually sort of glad I didn't say anything about myself. Laura was an incredibly interesting person! And when she got started talking, she didn't stop.

As the lunch bell rang, we headed out of the auditorium and towards the Cafeteria. Laura continued to explain her life story as we strolled along. So far, I'd learned that Laura was born in South Africa, and raised in England, but as her parents were missionaries, she'd spent much of her early life travelling, living in various countries from time spans as little as a few days and as long as a few months. She'd already been to every country in the European Union, Russia, China, North and South Korea, Uganda, Madagascar, Japan, Indonesia, Iceland, Canada, Mexico, Brazil... and some others that I can't remember. The amount of languages she knew was astounding: English, French, German, Spanish, Japanese, Korean. She could have been an exchange student anywhere, making me question why she came to America, of all places. She explained that out of everywhere she's ever been, she likes American people the best (a fact I thought seemed strange, as Laura didn't come off as much of a people person at all, notwithstanding the fact that Americans are generally viewed as rude people). Lastly, I learned that Laura was actually only 13. Having been homeschooled, she was farther ahead than many kids her age, so she was able to skip a grade and start her Freshman year early.

Once we reached the cafeteria and got in line, Laura's verbal autobiography was up to her arrival in Silent Hill over the summer, and her experience meeting Mary's family. She had to yell slightly over the loud chatter.

"Yeah, Mary's family's nice, I guess. They don't have a lot of money though, her dad's unemployed, but her mom works full-time at the flower shop on Sanders Street. She's always really busy though, Mary I mean, so I don't get to see much of her. I got here in mid-July and we only really got to hang out two or three times before the school year started. She's always doing shows up at the Artaud Theater, she did like two over the summer. She's into all that acting shit. But we get along well and she's nice, so whatever." Now that Laura mentioned it, I remembered that I had seen the shows Mary was in. I was a regular at the Artaud Theater, though I never had the courage to audition for anything.

"That's pretty sweet," I responded.

"Mhmm." We reached the serving area. The food options were pretty crumby that day: pizza that looked like it was baked before we'd gone out for vacation last year, chicken nuggets, and one or two vegetables as side options. I grabbed an orange and a water bottle, and Laura followed suit. "This food looks like ass," she stated simply.

"Yup. Get used to it, hun."

We checked out our food and stepped out of line. Laura peered around and eventually, her eyes met with a waving Mary from across the cafeteria, mouthing what seemed to be the phrase "Over here." The older girl looked a bit dismayed.

"There's Mary. I would sit with you, but she said that she needed to talk to me earlier." She began to walk, giving a casual wave with the back of her hand. "Nice meeting you, Harry. I'm sure I'll see you around." I smiled and waved back, though Laura was facing away from me... so she obviously wouldn't see it, making me question what the hell I was doing.

I watched as the girl made her way to her exchange partner. When she arrived at the table, Mary immediately begin to talk at 50 words a second, startling the younger girl. They both sat, and as they did, Laura's face grew more bewildered, while Mary's grew redder, most likely due to a talking-induced lack of oxygen, and also more anxious, something that began troubling me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Lisa push herself up from her seat nearby and nearly gallop over to me. "Whatcha doin'?" she asked, attempting to look in the same direction as I was.

"Nothing... Mary just looks really upset about something. I'm worried."

"Mary Shephard?" She clicked her tongue. "God," she said in a groan,"Why do you care?"

"Because Laura looks sort of worried, too."

"Mhmm." She said, unconvinced. "Who's Laura?"

"The blonde one."

"Ohhh, yeah, her exchange student, I have a class with her. She's rude."

"She's not, she just... speaks her mind."

As I continued to observe the scene, Mary's eyes flashed up to meet mine. She didn't appear upset by it, but I nervously directed my eyes away anyway.

"Why are you even worrying about anything having to do with her?"

"I just... I don't know."

Lisa smiled sympathetically and grabbed my arm. She began to walk me towards her table. "Sweetypie, you shouldn't even bother with anything having to do with her."

"I know."

I hadn't told Laura the complete truth about my relation to Mary. We knew each other pretty well... quite well, actually.

Mary really was a nice girl, don't me wrong. There was just something that happened the year before, and ever since then things had been...

Look, I don't really know if I want to talk about this right now. Maybe another time.

Anyway, we reached Lisa's table and sat down. Already there were two familiar faces: our friend Cybil, AKA. "Butch-dyke" (a name given to her due to her short blonde haircut and enjoyment of female genetalia, if you couldn't guess), and the humorously named Murphy Pendleton, though we generally just referred to him as Murph. Or "Cupcake". I don't remember how that nickname got started.

And then a third face. I'd never seen him before, but he looked our age. He was about my height, had dirty blonde hair, green eyes, pale skin. He wore an oversized green jacket overtop of a gray collared shirt.

"Joining us finally, I see," Cybil began, picking her head up from where it was resting on her arm. "What took you?"

Lisa cut in before I had the chance to respond. "Mary shit."

Cybil groaned, and Murphy's face scrunched, dark eyebrows moving closer together underneath brown bangs. "You didn't talk to her or anything, right?"

"No, no."

"He was _staring_ at her."

Cybil and Murphy groaned in unison. The new guy spectated our conversation in confusion.

"Who's Mary?" asked the new guy.

Lisa laughed. "Don't ask me. I'm sure Harry could tell you all about Mary anyway."

"Lisa, come on..."

"Oh Harry, Harry, Harry, it's fiiiiine," she started. "James here won't say a thing to anyone anyway. He's new."

He smiled shyly as our eyes met.

"So, you're name's James then?" I asked, ignoring Lisa's pestering.

"Yeah."

"And you're new here?"

"Yeah."

"That's cool."

"Yeah."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"SO," Lisa cut back in. "In conclusion: stop it, Harry Mason. I don't know what you're thinking about doing, but it better not be trying to make friends with her again. That ship has sailed."

"Thanks Lisa, didn't know."

"Besides," Cybil interjected "You don't need anymore friends. All you need is us, ya big loner you." She grabbed my head to pull me in for a noogie. The group chuckled at the cliché scene before them, and I did as well.

Then, we began to chatter away. James and I made uncomfortable eye contact every three minutes or so (he seemed like a generally uncomfortable person), but that didn't really matter. I was back with my friends, laughing, not worrying about anything else.

And in just that simple half-hour back with my friends after a long, uneventful summer, my shitty morning turned into a fucking clamor of stress-free, bullying-free happiness and exuberance.


End file.
